We're gonna beat them, Newt
by Akiry
Summary: This scene takes place shortly after the Gladers discover that Newt is not immune to the Flare. When night comes and Thomas has fallen asleep, Minho gets down from his bunk bed and comforts Newt.


**This scene is set at the end of chapter 8 and before chapter 9 of "The Death Cure" when Thomas, Newt and Minho are locked in a room overnight (after refusing to get their memories back)**

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That night, Minho tried his hardest to get some sleep, but he found himself staring at the ceiling with eyes wide open for what felt like hours. The light in the room was not helping his efforts, though they had dimmed considerably during the time they were there, like an artificial sunset of some sort. Minho sighed as he rolled over, his mind going over the events of that day, trying to get comfortable in the soft mattress but unable to. He could not get Newt's taut expression out of his head when he'd heard his name being called out, unblinking and tight-lipped. He'd seen the shiver that had gone up his spine. Despite the warmth his bed offered, he itched to look over the side of his bunk and talk to Newt, but he knew better than that. If he was going to talk to Newt, he'd have to do it when they were alone, and with Thomas resting on the other bunk bed, this was impossible. As his mind surged with anger for Rat Man and empathy for his friend, he knew that sleep would not come to him for hours, and he resolved that if Thomas fell asleep first and Newt was willing, he would have a talk with him. He glanced at his watch and realised it had only been forty minutes or so since they had decided to go to bed.

And so, Minho waited. As much as he liked Thomas and had grown close to him in the short time they'd known each other, he felt that he should not really be a part of the chat he was trying to plan out for Newt. It just wouldn't feel right if he was there. But as he tried to organise what exactly he wanted to say to his friend, his thoughts became muddled and he found himself even more lost for words than when he started.

Finally, he heard the gentle rise and fall of Thomas' chest, and Minho knew he had drifted off. Minho waited a few minutes, allowing Thomas to fall deeper into his slumber, and he listened carefully for any sign of life from Newt, who had not made any noise at all since they'd gone to bed. Presently, he heard a quiet sniffle and Minho sat upright. He peered over the edge of his bed to look down at his friend. Newt's eyes were scrunched shut, his brow creased as he bit his lip. A tear rolled down the side of his cheek. Minho heard Newt's breathing hitch and he knew he had to do something.

As his foot made contact with the first step of the bunk bed's ladder, he heard Newt roll over to see him coming down the steps. When he made it to the ground, Minho tip toed round to the other side of the bed to where Newt's head lay, concentrating on treading lightly so as not to wake Thomas. He squatted down at Newt's side and squeezed his shoulder, saying nothing as his friend hastily wiped his face with the back of his hand. He sat up in bed and made space for Minho to sit next to him, but Minho shook his head. Instead, he stood and padded slowly to the kitchen. He brought back one of the chairs and positioned it right in front of Newt and sat down, preferring this approach. He leant in forwards, watching Newt carefully as he sat with his head bowed, his fingers interlocked.

"I shouldn't even feel bad," Newt said quietly, his voice brittle as he avoided eye contact. He hung his head, "I knew I had it all along."

"It's not fair though," Minho said, staring at Newt's hands as his fingers moved along his arms till he'd pulled himself into a tight hug.

Newt snorted, momentarily forgetting Thomas' presence, "Since when has anything WICKED's done ever been fair?" he asked, disgust lacing his voice.

Minho did not even need to consider this question; he knew the answer was "never." He shook his head. "I know," he said. The speech he had practised over and over in his head earlier seemed to have vanished. He fought for words, but he had no idea what to say anymore. He glanced up at his friend, whose eyes were wet and tears threatened to spill.

"I know you want to reassure me that everything's going to be okay," Newt said through shuddery breaths, "But there's no buggin' point. We both know-" he faltered over his own words and he bit his lip, "We both know-" he tried again, but he did not go any further. He clenched his eyes shut as he hunched over slightly as his tears began to fall.

"We both know what?" Minho asked, "That you can't be saved?" He pulled his chair closer to the bed and enveloped Newt in his arms, "That's a load of klunk. Or, I guess as you would say, that's a load of 'buggin' rubbish.'"

He felt Newt's mouth twitch up into a smile despite himself, but as he hugged Minho back he clenched on tight, his fingers coiling round the material of his friend's shirt. Minho heard him give out a sob.

"I just want them dead," Newt said, leaning forwards slightly, his head pushing down into Minho's shoulder, "After everything they've done to us. After all the false hope they've given us…" His grip tightened around Minho's shirt and his shoulders trembled as he spat out his next words, his voice spiked with such venom that Minho felt his neck prickle, "They all have to go to hell."

Minho opened his eyes slightly as he held onto his friend. He'd never heard him so distressed, and the hostility in his voice worried him. "We're gonna get you that cure, Newt." Minho said firmly, his own eyes starting to water as he gently rocked Newt back and forth. "We're gonna fight WICKED, yeah? We're gonna beat them, and we're gonna win. You hear me, Newt?" he asked, squeezing Newt tighter. He closed his eyes and put as much conviction into his voice as he could, "We're gonna win."

"We have to kill them, Minho," Newt choked out, his nails digging into Minho's back, "They have to pay for what they've done to us."

Minho nodded as he winced at Newt's words, "Good that," he murmured, worried that the Flare was getting to him already.

"I just wanna-" Newt started but his voice caught in his throat, "I just wanna beat them. Y'know? Just once. Beat them at their own game."

Minho nodded, knowing exactly how Newt felt, "That's what we're gonna do," he said, "Tomorrow. 'Somehow, some way', remember? We'll fight them all. I promise you that."

Newt nodded slowly, but he spoke in a slow, trembling voice, "But what if-" he started, "What if it's all a lie? What if there is no cure and WICKED it just playing with us again?"

Newt's emotions seemed to sway every few seconds, going from sad to angry to distressed again, and although Minho was concerned with his changeable temper, he cleared his voice and said lightly, "Then I'm gonna have to take a few lessons in the sciences. Make my own cure for you. Make you better, yeah?"

They stayed silent for a while, and Minho held onto Newt until his sobs grew silent. When Minho finally let go, Newt rubbed his eyes again before offering Minho a light smile. "You're not too bad when you're not grouchy, you know," he said.

Minho snorted, "Me? Grouchy? You should take a look at yourself from time to time."

Newt smiled at his words but looked down at his hands, suddenly embarrassed by their talk. "Thanks," he said quietly.

"Hey, no problem," Minho said, patting his friend on the shoulder, "You know where I am if you ever need me. We've been through some shuck stuff together, and I ain't going nowhere. You know that, right?"

Newt nodded and met Minho's gaze, his eyes alight and full of fury, "Yeah. And we'll destroy them all, together."

Minho nodded slightly in agreement, made a little nervous by his friend's response. Newt's words had sent a slight tremor up his spine. He gazed into Newt's eyes, found no trace of joking. They were dark, cold, and serious. Silence rained through the room and Minho watched his friend's expression change. It was as if someone had flicked a switch: now his eyelids drooped and he stared off into space, sleep finally creeping up on him.

"You're tired, Newt," Minho said as he stood, trying to dismiss Newt's ever-changing moods as a cause of him not having slept properly in the past few weeks, "We should get some rest." Quickly, he put the chair back in the kitchen and he walked back over to the bed. Newt had tucked himself back in, and his eyelids fluttered tiredly. Minho offered his friend what he hoped was a reassuring smile before he climbed back up the ladder and curled up under the covers himself.

"'Night." Newt said softly, all the anger from earlier erased from his voice.

"G'night," Minho responded. The calmness in Newt's voice soothed his spirits a little, but he worried all the same. Unlike Minho, Newt had always known how to keep calm, but he just wasn't acting like the collected, level-headed person he knew and admired. His thoughts drifted back to when Newt had jumped from the wall of the Maze and he shook his head tiredly, trying to rid himself of the haunting memory. But despite his worries, the conversation had worn him out, and with these thoughts in mind, he drifted off into a sleep contaminated by troubled dreams and growing suspicions, and by the time he woke up, he did not feel like he'd slept at all.

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**Thanks for reading!**


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